Sharing
by leuska
Summary: - "She wants to tell him her secret but she knows she can’t, so Sara has to find another way - wordless but as much eloquent- to share her news with Michael." Spoilers for 4x19, its NC-17, so dont read when you dont feel comfortable with this.


**Name: **Sharing  
**Characters: **Michael Scofield, Sara Tancredi  
**Pairing: **Michael/Sara  
**Genre: **het, romance, bit of angst  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word count: **approx. 5700 words  
**Spoilers: **up to 4x19 I believe, nothing too specific, though.  
**Summary:** _She wants to tell him her secret but she knows she can't, so Sara has to find another way - wordless but as much eloquent- to share her news with Michael._

_This is the so much promised Birt__hday-fic for _**ladykaru**_ . You will know why it took me to write this so long, and I think you will catch the meaning after finishing reading, for it regards a conversation we had a couple of weeks ago about chickening out of a certain genre…lol. Don't forget what you promised me though, hun, complete and merciless honesty. :)_**  
**

Huge thanks to **spunkyar** for the beta. *hugs you*

**Sharing**

The feeling in the pit of her stomach tells her exactly how she feels. Not that her mind wouldn't let her in on the game. Every time she so much as looks at him, she feels the rush of heat spill through her whole body, causing small black dots to appear in front of her eyes.

Another day, another task, another apartment, which she finds extremely sad, for they had to leave Deb's place behind and there is something extremely bonding and special about that small flat with all those happy family photos. However, the pregnancy test was something she didn't have the heart to leave behind, and despite the risk of Michael - or God forbid a company agent - finding out her secret, she can't help but keep the tiny piece of plastic, holding so much hope and promise, securely hidden in the breast pocket of her jacket.

She is pregnant. And dear Lord help her, but she is actually _happy_ about it. She is scared out of her mind, of course, but underneath all those layers of worry and fear and doubt and even a slight trace of regret for not being a little more careful when things started to go off hand, she feels the tiny warm spot in her chest growing with each day, each minute. And it's exactly this little cherished place in her heart that tells her exactly how she is feeling about her recent news – despite everything else, she feels blessed. It's a gift and she loves it, no matter how crazy and dangerous such a notion can be. She cannot help herself, it's an ancient instinct she is acting upon, and though it's all happening at the most inconvenient of times _ever_, she still feels a great deal of joy at the thought of having a child, a family – _a future_ – with the man she loves.

They either die or see this thing through and she knows she has to increase her efforts tenfold in order to survive and see the day her child is born.

It's still a long way to go however, and the current state they are in tells anybody passing the young couple, that their day must have been extremely exhausting. Still, they somehow manage to find the necessary energy to sign into a nameless third-class motel for the night, the image of a bed – any bed really – and a hot shower more tempting than ever.

There is no diner or take-out nearby and Sara almost winces that the only source of food in the radius of several blocks is a large vending machine, standing at the entrance to the motel's reception.

After having her concerns confirmed only mere days ago, her mind went all of a sudden into overdrive and became overly cautious – absurdly so - of what she's eating.

She knows she's fussing over it way too much, acting unreasonably over-protective of the fetus in her womb, especially this soon and under such circumstances. However, glancing upon the pile of coke cans, chips, chocolate bars, some crackers, surprisingly - an apple - and two bottles of water, she cannot stop her nose wrinkling in dissatisfaction. After being sick, tired and thirsty for the past couple of days, she craves a normal home-cooked meal, instead of this crappy junk from the nearest vending machine.

Only too late does she catch Michael's contemplative look, observing her quite closely. He is not stupid, he must have noticed her quick and unexpected detours to every bathroom they've come across, but if he suspects anything, he keeps his opinion to himself. To say she is grateful would be an understatement, knowing she's in no state to discuss this subject with him quite yet.

Giving a sigh that comes across more tiredly than expected, she takes a bottle of water and the apple without a word, gracing Michael a small but grateful smile. He is still observing her closely, his brow slightly furrowed, and Sara suddenly feels extremely uncomfortable under his scrutinizing look. She knows her behavior must seem more than a little bit odd to him, especially after wolfing down slices of pizza and handfuls of french-fries only a couple of days ago without as much as blinking an eye, but she cannot help herself from acting differently.

"You feeling alright?" his tone is sounding perfectly casual, but the words leave his lips with an obvious reluctance, signaling he is far from asking a mere casual question.

"Yeah, sure. Why?" she blabbers the words clumsily and maybe way too quickly, her voice having a breathless tint. Opening the lid of the bottle, she takes a few full hasty gulps of water, the cool liquid sliding down her suddenly dry throat like a balm over a slice of burned flesh.

He shrugs, again feigning casualness.

"You seem…drawn lately," he starts, his eyes directly looking at her now, but she cannot bring herself to meet his eyes, so she looks at the red apple in her hand instead, "and you seem distracted a lot. You're pale and tired constantly. Are you not feeling well? Also you're eating very little and you visit the bathroom all the time…" he doesn't continue letting his observation hang in the air between them like a bullet stopped in mid-air, but it's all there, in his eyes, the burning question and plea, begging her to tell him what's wrong.

It's not that she doesn't want to tell him, in fact she does, _God how much she only wants to tell him_, but she knows she can't. She is doing it for him, for his sake, unable as well as unwilling to burden him with additional baggage of worry and concern. It's already enough _she_ is worrying too much; about her, about him, about their unborn child.

His constant worry for his brother, his nephew, _her_, his recent illness and following operation and finally, the unbearable truth he discovered about his mother, those are only a few of the many reasons why she cannot tell him this new secret just yet.

She wants the moment she tells him to be a happy one for both of them. If she tells him now she won't create a happy memory but a double-edged sword instead, splitting his soul into two pieces of happiness and apprehension, with a frosting of worry, fear and restlessness they can't afford. Therefore, she only utters a simple _'I'm fine'_.

For the sake of a full persuasion, she adds a mumbled, "I'm just really feeling tired and spent lately," knowing this to be a believable excuse. "All the running and hiding and playing cat and mouse is really starting to catch up with me, and I think I might have caught a stomach bug as well, but it's getting better with time," she finishes with a sigh, slumping her already sunken shoulders even further. _'It's not a complete lie'_, she tells herself, agonized by having to lie to him this shamelessly. He nods at last, albeit a little reluctantly. Thankfully, he seems to drop the subject for the night.

"Okay," he says with a deep sigh, his own weariness catching up with him too and her chest tightens with devotion and worry for him. His eyes rise to meet hers, and he gives her a small loop-sided smile, "Why don't you go ahead to bed then, and let me join you as soon as I take a quick shower?" he suggest quietly, his eyes softening while his hand comes to rest on her upper arm.

She feels the jolt of energy the moment his fingers touch her - the gentle, reassuring squeeze doing odd things to her stomach despite the barrier of her jacket, preventing a touch of skin on skin. She manages a nod and watches his back retreat into the bathroom.

Only when she hears the water tap switch on - the steady beat of drops finding their resistance against Michael's exhausted body - does she let her guard down, sinking onto the bed with a deep, heavy sigh.

Not telling him was by far harder than she could ever imagine, and she doesn't know how much more her resolve lasts until it crumbles under the heavy pressure of a knowledge supposed to be shared by two.

With the apple in her hand and her eyes carefully cast on the closed bathroom door she extracts the piece of plastic from her pocket, looking at it for the umpteenth time since the first time she found out. The cross is still there, plain and clear, and Sara wonders if she looks at the test so often because she is worried - or hopeful – she might have only imagined it and will find a simple single line instead.

How long has she been starring at the stick she doesn't know, her thoughts drifting away, swirling between light and dark, between hopeful and hopeless, each scenario different and more or less appealing. One way or another, she always ends up seeing a sandy sunny beach with three people in matching outfits._ Well, maybe without those matching outfits, but a happy fresh family nonetheless. _She was always a dreamer, an idealist, and she won't let that change, even under the heavy evidence whenever life proved her otherwise.

Her eyes blur all of a sudden, and she has to work hard to gulp down the sob that threatens to erupt within her chest. She wishes for a different timeline with different circumstances. For a crazy split of a second, she even tries to imagine a different man, but her mind doesn't cooperate with her on this, her imagination offering only one face over and over again, no matter what the situation or conditions - it's always Michael. And she not only cannot imagine another life, another man, but despite everything, deep down she knows she doesn't even want it to be any other way.

The sound of running water in the bathroom dies away and she quickly puts the pregnancy test back into her jacket before stripping into just her shirt and panties, her body slipping under the covers soundlessly.

She wonders for a moment, if it weren't smarter to keep her pants on, remembering the eventful night on which they created their little miracle, as well as had to run for their lives, Sara painfully aware of her ungraceful flight with no pants on.

Before she knows it, she is remembering the events of that night from a different point of view, a completely different perspective, and this version doesn't include anything unpleasant, on the contrary. The memory is far more detailed and intimate, smooth silky skin - still covered in blue ink - soft and compliant under her touch, lips crashing on lips in a mix of teeth and tongues and skin and hands and magnificently long fingers, granting and seeking comfort at the same time.

A rush of pleasant heat hits her unexpectedly at the very thought, making Sara wonder if this is what they mean when saying pregnant woman are more 'attentive', more 'aware', more _desirous_.

The door opens and Michael steps out, the soft light illuminating his bare, still slightly wet chest, bearing no ink anymore but a handful of small scars instead, an additional gift he didn't ask for, the courtesy of his rushed tattoo-removal treatment. The sight of him is still breathtaking though, and another jolt of heat rushes through Sara's belly, reminding her of how very much she misses him being close to her, joining and melting into one for a few short moments of heady bliss.

Only when Michael gives her an odd look, a soft smug smile dancing upon his lips, does she realize she's _starring_. Averting her eyes at last with a shy self-conscious smile, she removes the covers on his side of the bed in an inviting gesture.

His smile growing, he crosses the room without a single word, sliding under the covers with her, his face coming to rest right next to hers. He brings his hand up to caress her cheek, the touch so welcomed, missed and almost forgotten, she has to squeeze her eyes shut in order to tame her suddenly ardent emotions.

"You should get some sleep," he murmurs, and his gentle caress along with the overwhelming care in his voice bring back her craving for him with such force that it makes her stomach quiver with hunger. He misinterprets her reaction of suppressed longing however and his brow furrows with further concern for her.

"It's not just the pressure of our current situation, is it?" he starts tentatively, taking advantage of the intimacy and relative safety of their current surroundings, the bed always symbolizing a security only a true sanctuary can provide. "Tell me what's wrong," he presses softly, the urgency and the all too familiar guilty lilt in his voice breaking her heart.

_She wants to tell him and she doesn't want to lie, but she cannot tell him either._ She decides for a half-truth.

"Nothing is wrong, Michael," and that's actually a verity, "I am just really, _really_ tired and exhausted and not feeling that well at the moment for many reasons, and sometimes, I simply can't look on the bright side and believe we will see this whole mess through. But nothing is _wrong_, not in the way you might think."

_Actually, she thinks this might be exactly one of the ways he has in mind, but that's the reason why they call it a half-truth._

He sighs but lets the subject drop again, kissing her forehead instead and drawing her body closer to his. "Alright, you don't have to tell. But promise me to ask if there is anything I can do to make you feel better."

He probably doesn't realize it yet, but there actually is one thing - probably the only thing right now - that would make her feel better. She cannot tell him about her secret, but she surely wants to _show_ him, make him feel at least a tiny bit of what she is going through, be a part of the change in her he is still not aware of, making them _both_ participate and benefit from something they've both created, but without him being actually aware of the fact itself.

She loves him, she wants him, and a sudden possessive urge to feel him grips her heart. Bringing her hands to his chest, she draws closer, gently but resolutely bringing her lips to brush against his in a slow kiss. He is hesitant at first - Michael Scofield is always too careful and considerate, needless to say annoyingly so - and her impatience with his indecisiveness starts to grow.

The covers feel heavy, hot and suffocating upon her body and skin, and she craves to feel something else altogether, something soft and cool and smooth. She craves to feel _him_.

She beseeches his touch, feeling an urge so utterly blatant and forceful, she's confident enough to know she won't allow him to stop her quest at any cost. In this moment she doesn't care if a dozen Company agents burst through the door and shot them in the head while they were naked kissing and making love, only as long as she can feel him - on her, against her, in her.

Her thoughts are reduced to one single obsession - she wants him, _now_. She loves and adores him, she is carrying his child, and it's exactly the last point that makes her unbearably hot and horny in a way that both scares as well as thrills her.

Sensing her extreme need for him mixed with a trace of despair at his hesitancy, Michael gives in at last, shutting out his over-thinking mind that's already sending warning signals to his brain. They are safe for the night, there's nothing they can do with the situation they are currently finding themselves in and Sara is in painfully obvious need for closeness, both physical and emotional. He would be damned if he didn't give her that, God knows he needs it too.

Despite her earlier offensive, once Sara senses he complies and starts to return her heated kisses, she slows down her previously fierce tempo, giving them both the time to pay heed and adjust to one another's needs, starting with a thorough exploration of each other's mouth in one long, heated session. Just as they part to draw some air, their lips only inches away, foreheads touching, Michael sees her eyes glass over ever so slightly, a flicker of something deep and rich he cannot quite put his finger on shining in her eyes.

For some reason, she looks _moved_, and whether it's due to his current attention to her – _which he knows he hasn't given her any proper in days _- or the fact that they are still alive and well enough to let the other know just how much they love each other, Michael doesn't know. Either way, both possibilities send a deep stab of guilt into his heart. Bringing both his hands up to her face, his thumbs start to draw soothing patterns over her cheeks, smoothing out her hair, and the manner and gentleness Michael dedicates to the task strongly reminds Sara of the day the were reunited. Again, the memory of what came next just mere hours later causes a rush of blood into Sara's cheeks and belly, despite the fact that on an emotional level she is close to tears.

Feeling devastated by the way her eyes glister in the dark, turning a darker shade of brown, and her hands clutching at his sides almost painfully, Michael is suddenly reminded of how close and often they've already come to losing one another and how much it reflects on the way they feel for each other. Realizing never to have voiced his concerns, Michael feels a sudden need to repair this particular failing.

"I know my behavior in the past weeks has been tormenting you," he whispers quietly, his warm breath hitting her face in an unexpected puff, then his lips close on her in a gentle caress before he withdraws ever so slightly to continue, "but the way I feel about you has never changed, _never_ Sara, please believe that."

She is stunned by his words, frozen under his touch and startled by his sudden openness but still waiting impatiently for him to continue, while his fingers play with her unruly strands before pulling them gently behind her ears. Her eyes are shining with surprised emotion - and maybe a little bewilderment too – but he sees the anticipation and hope for him to continue this particular train of thought and it's all the encouragement he needs to finally spill his soul to her.

"I love you, Sara. And although I know it's by no means a statement that could validate and justify my actions, I want you never to doubt that what I'm trying to do, I do for _us_. I want a fresh start with you more than anything, but I know I cannot start over until I finish _this_ first. I know it's selfish and I know how very much I am asking from you. And I want you to know that I don't take your sacrifice lightly, nor for granted."

For a beat, she forgets her physical need for him, her chest constricting painfully under the force of his words. His eyes are so earnest and pleading with her to understand, she can literally feel her whole insights quiver with emotion. She pulls his face down on top of hers again, crushing her lips to his, hoping he is feeling all the love she tries to pour into the kiss that serves as a silent response. Finally breaking apart, all she manages to choke out is a simple, _'Show me'_ before her hands glide down his chest, her fingers fluttering lightly over the skin and hair just under his bellybutton, then in one swift motion, they're digging deep into the waistband of his jeans, the impatience and anticipation of what's about to come – _and it better be _her_, the sooner the better _– now gripping her whole body.

If she was turned on before, it's nothing in comparison to how she's feeling now. Her whole body is humming and burning with an ache only the most natural human act of sharing is able to calm and soothe. Sensing her restlessness starting to border on edginess, he takes the lead by rolling her onto her back and covering her body with his, using his elbows and knees for support in order not to crush her. Despite everything he's seen her go through, in some situations - especially _this_ kind of situations - she still seems precious, extremely fragile and vulnerable to him, and Michael knows it has little to do with physical strength.

His hands move down her sides, his fingers gliding over the end of her shirt, then quickly ghosting over the lace of her panties. And then all he can feel is just the smooth silky skin of her legs. He didn't realize the state of clothing she was in before, the bedding modestly covering her naked flesh, and now that he's discovered she was most probably _planning_ for this to happen, it's a fact that has him more aroused than he can remember.

_He is here, she is here, they ARE together._

He brings his lips down to her throat, feeling a light chuckle vibrate in her throat he is currently kissing. He stops for a beat, looking up at her with raised eyebrows, but she merely shakes her head dismissing his question with a huge smile dancing upon her lips, her hand moving to cradle his skull. When he still doesn't proceed but merely continues looking at her expectantly, she has no choice but to give in.

"Just wondered that if we matched _our_ outfits, we would get one fully clothed and one fully naked person," she murmurs in amusement and watches a mischievous glint light his eyes. He gives her a loop-sided grin before without any warning reaches lower and skillfully but gently pulls off her panties.

"If that really was the case, then these would have to go," he says with a smug grin, watching her whole body wriggle and twirl under his touch in obvious anticipation. Finishing his task, he lets the tiny piece of fabric fall to the ground, his attention never leaving the beauty lying in front of him. He continues his previous task, kissing his way up to her jaw and back down her throat, until his mouth meets the fabric of her shirt.

She is quietly moaning and Michael cannot help but observe – pleasantly so – that she seems far more tender and forthcoming, arching and welcoming at his every move, every touch, every kiss, meeting him already half-way.

When his mouth finds hers again, her fingers are already on the zipper of his jeans, impatiently tugging at the metal clasp in order to free his throbbing member. In a few seconds, his jeans are joining her panties on the ground, and the only pieces of clothing left between them now are her shirt and his boxers.

He wants this to last longer, he wants to slow down and give her a proper foreplay, but she seems to disagree, going straight for the ultimate prize. Cupping him through the thin fabric of his boxers, he gasps, letting out her name in a low, guttural groan. She surely is making this difficult for him, and she knows it, because he can feel her smile against his shoulder.

Not wanting to let her beat him this easily, he slips his hands under her shirt, finding what his itching fingers are looking for, and cupping her warm breasts so quickly and with such ease, he has her gasping for air in a millisecond. Without as much as noticing what she is doing, her arms rise over her head, signaling and waiting for him to free her of the tee-shirt, the very last barrier keeping him at bay. The shirt falls down, joining the little pile of clothing at the side of the bed.

He has now a completely free space to apply all his knowledge of her anatomy, of her special _spots_ and _places_ already burned irrevocably into his brain, locked up in a hidden, secret and most sacred compartment of his mind, waiting to be unleashed whenever the need comes to please her, and _God it feels so damn good!_

To Michael, she feels somehow different today, she feels even_ better_, though he never thought that possible. She is more sensitive, more compliant, more relaxed; and every nerve ending in her body is responding to his touch with enormous speed almost instantly and with surprising enthusiasm.

His mouth moves down her front, stopping for a moment to plant a series of tauntingly delicate kisses in the hollow of her breast, tasting salt and sweat and a mixture he simply knows as _her_, then he is moving further down, observing with pleasure how her chest rises and falls with heavy breathing, her struggle to regain the lost control obvious, but she's failing miserably, and neither one cares.

He has reserved his very last and best trick up until the end however, moving his fingers south while his mouth heading north, his fingers gently slipping inside and caressing her right _there_, while at the exact same moment, his lips close around her nipple. That's the moment Michael knows only too well and still unsatisfactory little about, the moment where her breath hitches in her throat and her limbs are left paralyzed, leaving him to take over control completely.

_She cannot believe it, but he did it again, he got her to a point where she will, with almost full certainty, come even before he manages to shed his boxers._

His delicate fingers glide deeper, increasing and expanding in their movement and intensity, while his hot tongue is doing all kinds of magic on her breast, the thumb of his free hand stroking and kneading the other one, and Sara knows right then and there that she is fighting a loosing battle.

She cannot stop the tension in her underbelly building and growing unbelievably quickly, as much as she cannot stop her body from starting to shudder involuntarily in anticipation of what's about to happen, and Michael has her over the peak of the highest mountain before she can even start to realize she is already falling. Her back arches and her head tilts back, a deep groan leaving her lips on its own volition, and then she is crushing back down to earth with a force she isn't sure she will survive but doesn't care.

This is way better than anything she has ever experienced before, and for the moment being, it feels ten-times better than any fucking dose of the best hospital-grade morphine.

The next thing she knows, she's panting, lying on her back with her body feeling completely boneless, Michael's face hovering above hers, studying her face with an expression of utter affection, waiting for her to come back to him.

"You alright?" he asks quietly, giving her time. The only way she can respond is to bring his face down to hers and kiss him as fiercely and thoroughly as humanly possible.

She shakily nods, then quips a silent '_Never better_'. Despite her breathing still being elaborated and shallow, it's the flush of red heat in her face and the soft glow in her eyes that tell him all he needs to know. He is smiling at her almost shyly, and there is something resembling _relief_ in his face. She suspects it's probably connected to their previous conversation about her state of health, and her heart aches with limitless love for him in a squeeze of bittersweet pain.

Her fingers come to rest on the nape of his neck, her fingernails lightly grazing his scalp, and she knows right here and now she wouldn't want it any other way. Bringing his lips to hers once again, the kiss this time is more delicate and slow and loving, affirming what they both already know but don't dare to voice – that they would die for the other in a heartbeat if necessary, their life not worth living without the other, and this notion both, frightens as well as calms their restless hearts.

Finally drawing his eyes away from hers, he bends down and kisses her forehead, wrapping her into his arms and resting his cheek against the top of her head. She wriggles out of his embrace however, giving him a questioning look. She thought they weren't finished yet.

"I…uhm, I don't have any protection with me…" he stutters, shame and embarrassment coloring his cheeks and it might be just her hormones, but he looks cuter then she has ever seen him. Unable to stop a low chuckle leaving her lips, she is amused by his words, the personal joke understandable only to her, then she gives him a playful look.

"I am afraid it wouldn't be the first time, Michael," she hears herself saying and watches his face grow more serious.

"I don't want to get you in any more trouble," he whispers hoarsely, and all of a sudden, a lump the size of a fist forms in her throat, all her previous amusement vanishing from her face.

"We are risking our lives daily, Michael. Our_ lives_. If tomorrow one of us gets caught or killed, I certainly don't want to spent the rest of my life regretting what we could have had if we only took the risk."

Her statement is a double-edged sword and unfortunately, he chooses to address the sharper end. With his look once again filled with uncertainty, he asks something that's been on his mind for the past few days.

"You never gave me an answer to my proposal the day we arrived at your friend's apartment, so I thought you weren't up for any 'risky business' anytime soon, if ever…" he utters quietly without as much as a trace of accusation, but the badly concealed disappointment in his voice breaks her heart.

She knows perfectly well what conversation he is referring to, realizing only now she actually fled the spot at the feeling of sudden panic rising in her chest and the saying – _be careful what you are wishing for, for it might come true – _echoing in her head. She looks at him now, his gaze more vulnerable than it was the day he spoke of sun and sand and what they possibly could have in their future someday, if only they wanted it.

Her eyes fill with tears once again, yet this time, they do so of joy and hope, rather than hardship and grief.

"If I didn't want that too Michael – and for the record, I want it very much so - I wouldn't be here with you right now," she says and watches his troubled look slowly dissolve to be replaced by a far more optimistic one, one of relief and gratitude.

"Now," she starts with a playful lilt in her voice, desperately wanting to change the subject that always creates the thick atmosphere of commitment she knows they are already bound together by, "let's do something about _these_," she says and before he knows it, his boxers are being pulled down his legs, leaving him naked and exposed the same way she was moments before.

The hunger is still there - despite the rather heavy conversation they've just had - Michael's still raw and unsatisfied, Sara's more tame but still fierce and demanding, and not by a long shot satiated.

They start their dance again, this time slower but with just as much enthusiasm, and when he finally buries himself inside her, she almost weeps at the pleasurable feeling of having him with her, close, whole and willing. They are starting a family together, and although the odds look rather bad for them at the moments, she feels the flicker of hopeful glow enroot itself deep down in her heart.

The pace of their joined rhythm increases and not long after, they are falling again, desperately clutching to one another. They fall and it's okay, as long as they fall together.

Later, they lay entwined, gently laughing about how exhausted they were just a few hours prior upon entering the motel, while now, three hours later, sleep still doesn't come. They drink some water and share the apple and a chocolate bar, huddled together under the covers and stubbornly refusing to get dressed yet.

When exhaustion starts to get to them at last, they spoon together, Michael's hand coming to rest lightly upon her stomach in a familiar gesture. And although she knows his touch to be just an innocent motion of love and protection - unintentional coincidence - she cannot help but take his hand in hers and bring it to her lips for a quick kiss, before lowering their joined fingers to rest on her flat belly again. As if sensing her drift of thought, his warm breath caresses her lobe, and he is whispering words of hope and awe and love, expressing his amazement and confessing a slightly embarrassing truth that today they felt different, _better_. Especially _she_ felt different, and although not having any clue to the cause of this change, he loved it – loved _her_ – beyond words. In one of the most intimate confessions in his life, he admits to her in a whisper that sends goose-bumps down her spine, that he's never bonded this deeply with anybody in his life before.

She doesn't reply but merely squeezes his hand tightly in response. Her eyes shut in order to prevent the hot tears, unexpectedly springing to her eyes at his statement, from spilling.

Despite not voicing it, Sara believes she managed to share her happy news with him tonight, and she is almost sure that in one way or another, he got the message she so desperately wanted to pass on.

She doesn't know what the morning will bring, but for today, everything is said and right.

xxx

_A/N: Ok, so this was my very first NC-17 I ever wrote, and to say am __I little embarrassed is quite the understatement, but I still, I hope you guys enjoyed. Either way, do the clickily-click and let me know. :)_


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